Page 90 of Pretty Secrets

I peer inside it, hoping to find something, but there’s nothing. It’s empty.

None of this makes sense. My sister was a freaking rock star at organization. From what Holly told us, Dee recruited the girls for Devil’s Night; she did their contracts and their goodie bags; she helped set up too. She should have notes lying around, file folders with invoices. Anything. She started helping my mother plan soirees when she was nine, and my mom has never praisingly insulted someone like when she announced to everyone how secretarial Delilah was.

I wish I had her phone. Like the rest of us, she was always on that damn thing. It might prove Keegan’s story. It might point us toward the stalker, or whoever she had this last-minute meeting with before she turned up on the river dock, not breathing.

I pull up a note-taking app on my phone and start jotting down ideas.

Delilah’s phone.

Stalker/barista?

Talk with staff at the castle.

Track down more of the entertainment.

Talk to anyone who was at the Devil’s Night party who isn’t a Knight.

I don’t know how I’m going to do all of this without attracting attention to myself, but this is exactly why it would be easier if I was a Knight. As a Fledgling, I should get put on the Devil’s Night planning party, just like her. Retrace her steps.

All of that will take time, but there’s one thing I can do now: take Keegan’s advice and talk to my father. He’s not returning my texts or voicemails, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know where he lives.

I get to my feet, searching for a jacket. Oliver went to bed a half hour ago—he’d paused by my door, but when I didn’t call out to him, he kept going. Checking the clock, I imagine Alaric’s in bed too.

Perfect. I need to do this on my own. Family business is family business.

I sneak down the stairs. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve just finished going through Dee’s stuff or because her death is so fresh on my mind right now, but I feel raw. As if the slightest thing would slice me open and I’d bleed out all over the floor.

I will do this, I promise Dee as I cancel the security alarm and then reset it before I pull the door closed behind me. I walk briskly to my Jeep, and by the time I get in it, no one’s followed me.

Taking a deep breath, I start the engine, and then roll slowly off campus, pointing my car toward my parents’ house.

The drive doesn’t take long, especially since I fill the time rehearsing what I want to ask. Dad always operates on a need-to-know basis, which usually suits me fine. I couldn’t care less most of the time, but a potential stalker is one of those things he should’ve relayed to us. When my sister’s safety is in jeopardy, that’s a family problem.

I squeeze the steering wheel, wondering why Dee didn’t tell me herself. I know the answer already, but I search for another one in hopes that I’m wrong. The truth is, she’d call and talk about family shit, and I’d blow her off. I’d blow everyone off. I didn’t care. It was so much easier not to care when I was thousands of miles away.

A tear carves its way down my cheek, and I swipe at it. I don’t even deserve my own misery. I should’ve been a better sister, which is why I’m so adamant about finding out what happened to her.

And what I really want to know from Dad is how can he not see what’s in front of his face? He hasn’t built an eight-figure company being stupid. He must suspect the Knights too.

Unless he knows for sure it’s not…

My foot drifts off the accelerator as that thought drills a hole into my brain. I chalked up his inaction to grief and the fact that he can’t seem to walk around the house without looking like a zombie. But maybe I missed the point of all this. Maybe he knows for sure it was an accident, and he really is lost in grief.

Something I should be doing too.

Maybe my mind is making shit up, trying to make sense of something that is senseless. What if it was only an old-fashioned accident?

After all, accident means something that shouldn’t have happened. No, Dee didn’t like the water, but she could’ve been on the dock. She could’ve slipped and fell. She could’ve—

The car behind me flashes their high beams. I squint in the rearview mirror, and their horn blows several times before the driver lays on it.

“Jesus. Asshole,” I mutter. I peek down at my speedometer and notice I’m going thirty in a fifty-five. Oops. I pull to the side to let them pass, but they don’t. Lowering the window, I wave them on, but they stay right there, blinding me with their lights.

My heart races, my stare constantly returning to my rearview mirror. The car gets closer and closer, and with each inch they gain, panic starts to close in.

35

Eden

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